Forgetting
by Keeper of War
Summary: Chapter two is up - Ironcaster tries to convince Cawl to join, Wibus speaks with the Kirin Tor. Ev'ra is less than pleased with the events.
1. Introduction

The stitches strained as the skin pulled apart at the sewn seems, pus oozing from the crack as the hand flexed and squirmed. It turned over, the owner examining the reconstruction of his extremity. Sighing, he looked up at his faithful servant. "How long until it is fully functioning again?" His voice was raspy and dry.

"A week at least, my liege." The figure was bent over, resting on a gnarled staff that resembled his own body. "It is a dark magic, sir. Wounds from such are difficult to heal. Often, time is the ultimate mender." He bowed his head shortly.

The Lord of the Forgotten Kingdom nodded, curling his fingers into a fist, a small squishing sound emanating from his hand. "Very well. I take it the assassin has been apprehended?" He clasped his hands behind his back, glancing down at the small island his guild ruled. The tower was very tall indeed, often the temperature being drastically cooler in the topmost room, a slight fog surrounding it.

The assistant nodded deeply, "Yes, sir. He is in the lower levels. Master Alchemist Candell is with him."

Stepping forward, the Lord sounded pleased. "Excellent. Perhaps now we'll know who is behind this cowardly deed." Before his assistant could reply, the Lord stepped forward off the edge of the tower, disappearing from sight. His servant merely shook his head, shambling out of the Master's chambers. He closed the door with a tug of his undead hand.

***

"Do you have any idea what this could do?" Archmage Pym Ironcaster sat in his chair in the Council Chamber's of the Order of the Phantom Hand. "You sent an assassin to the Forgotten Kingdom without consulting the Master of this order? Or the council?" The gnome's small stature did not do his booming voice justice.

Anu'Rak stood tall, jutting his tusks in the air, "I jus' be doing what is right for ta Order. Dat guild goes against everytin' we stand for, Archmage." His shoulders back, the troll believed in what he said.

A tall knight elf gestured to the troll, "Assassination is not upheld by our beliefs, Anu'Rak. You know this. We cannot permit one who commits these acts in our Order. We are the peacekeepers. We work with the Kirin Tor, the leaders of the factions, the earth shakers of our world. We are not ones of violence and deception. This act is against what we teach." He held his head in his hands as he sighed. "I'm sorry, Anu'Rak, but I have no choice but to expel you from the Order.

"I tried ta get dis murderer an' I be punished? Dis is no good, council." The troll peered with angry eyes to the council members. "I be tryin' ta stop dat monster ta stop his conquest and I be turned away?" He shook his shaggy head, staring at the ground. "Fine den. But when he be at you's doorstep, I won't be dere ta help." The troll shot a last look at the night elf before he slowly exited the chambers.

The tension in the room was slow to fall as the council breathed deep the somber air of condemnation. Finally, Ironcaster broke the silence. "We send a diplomat. No matter what we think of their beliefs, we cannot afford an all-out war with the Forgotten right now. They need to know that this was not an act sanctioned by the Order."

The night elf rested his chin on folded hands, "We do need to send someone, but who? With the current tensions between the factions from Ulduar, we cannot afford to lose many council members to this errand right now. It is quite a journey and one cannot go alone."

"I can go, Master Wibus Alquarian." The voice squeaked from the entrance. It was a gnome clad in an intimidating set of armor, two deadly axes strapped to his back. He stepped forward, "I offer my services as Jonathan Pinta, the Guard Captain of the Order, to escort a council member to the home of the Forgotten Kingdom." He knelt in the center of the chamber.

Wibus sat back in his seat, frowning in thought. "It would be safer with two. And only one council member would need to be spared." He looked around the chambers, "Who among you will volunteer to journey to the Forgotten Kingdom, to speak with Sumer Ev'as to represent our Order?"

There was a long pause as the few council members glanced around the room. A few throats were cleared as the council sat, waiting. Finally, Ironcaster stood, "I will go to the Forgotten Kingdom. I will speak with Sumer Ev'as on our behalf."

Wibus bit his lip, "You're prepared to take the burden of representing us to a hostile organization? To travel across the sea to the Eastern Kingdoms?"

Ironcaster nodded somberly, "I am, Master Alquerian. Together, Pinta and I can make the journey to the Forgotten Kingdom in Tirisfal, and return safely in a matter of days."

A pause filled the room as the matter was simultaneously mulled over in each council member's mind. Finally, a vote was cast. It was approved, the journey would begin at dawn.

***

"Aha! So the Lord of the Forgotten Whatnots came to see me at last." The human was seated in his cell, as jovial as a man could be after being caught for assassination.

Sumer Ev'ra only grinned, "You are a confident man. Ignorant, but confident." He flexed his stitched hand slowly, "Who sent you, rogue?"

The human smiled, "Ah, no." He leaned forward to the bars, "Now that would be telling. And I don't get paid to tell." He leaned back, reclining in his stone seat.

Ev'ra glanced to Candell who withdrew a small vial with a needle point. "That's a shame. It would have made this so much quicker." Ev'ra motioned for the alchemist to begin the treatment.

"Oh, yeah, one thing I forgot to mention." The man winced slightly as the needle was thrust into his arm. "Potions and poisons won't do too much to little ol' me." He winked at the alchemist.

Candell smelled the air, "Sir? Do you smell that?" He looked around the room. "It smells like-"

A loud crackling sound erupted from the cell as the human was wrapped in a blanket of black smoke. A bestial howl echoed through the chamber as a wolf-like figure charged from the cloud, shackles broken clean from their housing. The figure leapt up the wall with amazing dexterity, clinging to the banisters as it reached the open window high above the ground. Finally, the wolf-man sneered, its lips pulling back in a wide grin, "Sulfur?" The voice was deeper, more ragged. "That's the smell of a curse, ol' chap. That's the smell of a Worgen." The figure soared to the window, feet first, then poked its head in, "Name's Robert Cawl. Look me up sometime when you're in Theramore. Do love the weather."

The alchemist stood agape at the empty window. "… sulfur…" He whispered, clutching the vial so tight that it may shatter.

Ev'ra cursed loudly, slamming his rotting fist into the wall. "Damnit!" He clutched his hand gingerly. "I want him tracked down, found, captured, anything. I don't care if you have to tear him apart!" Ev'ra's green eyes burned brighter than normal. "I want to know who sent that beast and I want to know now!" He swept his arm across the table, multiple bottles and jars were sent flying to shatter on various surfaces.

The room echoed Ev'ra's frustration as the Lord slammed the main door with a fierce bang. The alchemist stared at the empty cell, tendrils of the cursed vapor lingering in the dark air. "... sulfur…"


	2. Chapter 1

The horses shifted under the weight of their load. The bags upon their backs bore supplies for weeks of travel: food, water, clothes, shelter, anything that the two ambassadors could possibly need on their journey to the Eastern Kingdoms. Wind tugged at the robes of Pym Ironcaster as he supervised the loading of supplies.

His beard was long and dark, streaks of grey littering the scraggily hair as it fluttered in the wind. Rather tall for a gnome, he stood almost four and a half feet tall, his narrow frame betraying his immense power. He wrapped his arms together in his green and blue robe, shivering as his hood fluttered. For a moment it lifted from his head, blowing back to reveal his balding head, before he grunted, pulling his hood back in place. His blue eyes twinkled in the sunlight.

"Ironcaster!" A voice sounded behind him. He turned to face the arrival, his head tilted low to the wind. "Master Alquarian wishes to see you before we depart." The voice came from Jonathan Pinta, a gnome of average height, but whose musculature was almost overdeveloped. Shining armor covered his form, his short green hair whipping in the wind as he stood tall and proud. The two giant axed on his back did nothing to hold him down.

Ironcaster looked over Pinta's head, sighing. "Very well. I will return momentarily." He began trudging through the snow, his robe dragging up the cold white blanket. "Why we have horses I don't know." He called, his head shaking. "Mechanostriders are much less likely to be spooked by the journey." He opened the door to the Master's tower, closing it quickly.

***

"Robert Cawl. Why am I not surprised?" The guard smiled, shaking his head in mock disapproval. "Back from another 'errand?' Or just touring?"

Cawl tipped his hat, grinning, "Oh, you know me, Tom. Just on another vacation." He whistled, strolling up the path, his traveling bag slung over his shoulder, his pockets a little heavier.

He walked in long strides, his languid form a direct relation to his years at his profession. His hair was dark and short, his beard the same, though ragged and uneven. He was tall and lanky, but not weak. His toothy smile seemed to glint, his canines slightly pronounced. His arms and hands had more hair than was usual, and his nails were hard to keep trimmed.

The inn was warm, a direct contrast to the gloomy and cold weather hovering over the shore. He entered the room, tossing his pack onto an empty chair at the table. "I'm back!" He shouted, seating himself at the large dining table, his boot-strapped feet landing on the table itself.

The greeting was met with a flood of warm greetings from the patrons of the inn. Janene leaned against the bar, "Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in." She was an attractive woman, and a welcoming host, offering an open hand to anyone who may stumble into the place. "How long you back for this time, Ripclaw?"

Cawl shrugged, picking a loaf of bread from the platter. "Not sure yet, milady." He took a large bite, chewing it roughly. "Just long enough, I guess." Bits of bread dropped from his mouth as he spoke.

Janene shook her head, pouring a mug full of ale. "Of course. Just long enough to get on my nerves." She walked around the counter, handing the mug to Cawl. "Just watch yourself, big man." She gave him a wink, sauntering back to the bar.

"Not a problem." A low voice crawled through the air from the sitting room. "I have a feeling someone else will be watching him even closer." The small crowd parted, revealing a looming figure near the fire. "Very close indeed."

The figure stepped forward, revealing a tall, broad Forsaken man. He was dressed in a simple grey robe, his blue-green skin showing through the occasional hole in his clothing. His face was mostly intact, the jaw clenched tight. His dark blue hair fell in a shaggy top, clinging in a greasy hue. "Robert Cawl of Theramore?"

Cawl chuckled, "You speak common pretty well for a gutter-crawler." He called, setting his mug on the table. "How'd you get past the guards, dead man? This is an alliance town. All business dealing with the head honchos is announced formally."

"I am no stranger to tradition, human." The sentence was spat in disgust, the Forsaken never taking his eyes from Cawl. "Such as the respect to meet an enemy in battle, rather than the dishonorable act of assassination."

The crowd slinked away from the Forsaken. "Ah, hell. This about you Forgotten folks?" Cawl stood, crossing the room slowly, the eyes of everyone in the room tracking him closely. "Look, it's all in the business." He extended his hand, "The guy's fine, right? No harm, no foul."

The Forsaken eyed Cawl's hand, then grinned. His rotting lips pulled back in a wicked smile as he extended his hand, then flicked his fingers. A burst of green flame shot from his decomposing hand, hitting Cawl in the chest, throwing him across the room and into the wall with a solid _THUMP._

"You have no idea what you have gotten yourself into, _Worgen._" The Forsaken intruder emphasized the last word with precision. The crowd reacted little, a much more substantial reaction was expected. The people only stared as Cawl struggled to his feet.

Cawl drew a dagger from his jacket, gripping it tightly. "You sure you want to do this, maggot-bag?" He swirled the dagger around in his hand in a blur. "You come to my home city, intrude into this inn, jeopardize the lives of innocent civilians, and threaten my life?" Another dagger revealed itself in Cawl's hand, swirling in a circle around his grip. "I think it's you who has no idea."

The Forsaken glanced around the room, "Do none of you care about his heritage? The bane of existence, the cursed animal?" He clenched his fists, green flame leaking from his knuckles.

Cawl grinned, "You know the problem with you, Forsaken?" A loud _CRACK_ shook the room, black smoke swirling around Cawl as a howl cut through the sound. The smoke cleared, revealing a large humanoid, wolf-like in nature. Its fur was dark as the night, with a single white streak going down the middle of its back. It stood over seven feet tall, a thick musculature enveloped its tall and intimidating frame. The creature gave a sickening grin to the Forsaken, "You guys are too afraid of new things." He motioned with his clawed hand around the room. "Everyone here knows my 'secret.' Any other surprises?"

The Forsaken glared at his opponent, grunting, "Very well, Worgen." A bolt of green fire shot through the air, hitting the wall where Cawl had just been. He leapt above the bolt of flame, gripping the chandelier, swinging above the Forsaken. The fire dissipated from the wall as a rumbling was heard from around the inn. Cawl dropped down in front of a rapidly growing Forsaken. Cawl stepped back as the figure grew, his skin turning a dark purple, almost black. The robe tore as wings sprouted from his back, horns sprouting from his head. "You wish to battle?" The voice was booming, shaking Cawl to the core.

A claw came at Cawl, nearly catching him along the cheek as Cawl leapt out of the way, rolling to the floor. The large figure was remarkably fast, reaching towards him with sharp claws. The smell of demons filled the room as Cawl leapt out of the creature's reach time and time again, barely missing contact. Cawl leapt over the tall creature, landing solidly on a chair. The creature turned to meet him, but Cawl gripped the chair and leapt, landing one of his daggers deeply in the chest of the creature as he flew to the other side of the room, his claws digging into the wooden floor as he skidded to a halt. The creature howled, tearing at the dagger, gripping it and throwing it across the room.

"ENOUGH!" A wave of ice flooded the room, gripping Cawl and the creature in its grasp. "What is the meaning of this?" Jaina Proudmoore strode through the entrance, her anger only matched by her beauty. Her blonde hair was soaked from the rain that had begun to fall.

"Sorry, milady." Cawl nodded, slipping back into his human form in a _CRACK _and puff of black smoke. "Seems my business has found me at last."

***

"I hope this won't take too long, Wibus, we do have to catch a ship." He sat across from the Master's desk, lowering his hood as he made himself comfortable.

"It won't take long, old friend." Wibus Alquarian drummed his fingers. He was tall and elegant, his dark green hair pulled back in a short braid, his dark purple skin shining in the small amount of light that leaked into the office. His robes were of brown and red, simple and elegant in one. "I just wanted to wish you luck for the journey."

Pym angled his head accusingly, "Now, friend, I know you didn't call me away from the other members of the Order to wish me luck." He crossed his legs, "What is it?"

Alquarian sighed, leaning forward onto the desk. "We may have discovered the identity of the assassin that was sent to the Forgotten Kingdom's Master." He opened a small notebook on his desk, withdrawing a note from a correspondent in Theramore. "This came to me via portal this morning. The man was nice enough to drop this off before heading back to Kalimdor." He handed the letter to Ironcaster.

"Robert Cawl." Pym read aloud, examining the letter. "Says here he's a mercenary." He continued down the page.

"Keep reading." Wibus said quietly, eyeing Pym closely.

"He's a…" He squinted, "A Worgen?" The word was almost whispered, a moment of understanding flickered on his face.

Wibus nodded, "A Worgen." He took the letter back, folding it neatly, tucking it into the book tenderly. "One of the cursed."

"Where did Anu'Rak find him?" Ironcaster leaned back in his chair.

"I think the more important question is: what is he doing out of Gilneas?" Wibus sighed, "I'm not sure why a Worgen would be outside of Gilneas, much less what he's doing in Theramore." He ran a hand through his hair, tightening the braid.

"You want us to ask?" Ironcaster suggested, studying his friend's face.

Wibus frowned, "Not a bad idea. The correspondent said that he may be in trouble. Perhaps you and Pinta should journey there first."

"Very well, then." Pym stood, pulling his hood back over his head. "To Theramore Isle."


	3. Chapter 2

The salty air of the sea filled the dim cabin as Ironcaster bent over his notes, searching and sorting through the mass of parchment and ink creations. Candlelight flickered, slightly illuminating the room, fighting off the dark of night. Ironcaster scribbled furiously on one of the notes, then placed it in another pile before reaching towards his other quill.

A knock at the door made him jump, "Excuse me, sir?" Jonathan Pinta stood in the doorway holding a few plates on a wooden tray. "Thought you might like dinner." He crossed to the table and sat the tray in the small are not covered in papers.

"Ah, yes. Thank you Jon." Pym reached to a glass of milk, gulping it to subdue his massive thirst. He looked back down and continued his work diligently as the two sat in silence.

Jon fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair as he ate. Finally, he spoke, "Work for the Order?"

Ironcaster grunted in affirmation, "Letters to mail, reports to file." He folded his parchment and slid it into an envelope, stamping it with the dripping hot wax that he warmed in his hand. The stamp was a skull in the deep blue splatter.

Pinta began eating the salted venison jerky slowly, eyeing the contents of Ironcaster's mess. "Classified information?" He said almost jokingly.

"Yes." The answer was short and gruff, decisive. Finally, Pym set his quill down and looked outside to the clouded darkness. "Seems about time for sleep." He muttered, squinting. "We'll see Theramore at first light tomorrow." And as his words hit Pinta's ears, the mage had gone in a flash. As had everything he had been working on.

***

"Unsuccessful?!" Sumer Ev'ra boomed from his chambers. "The attempt was _Unsuccessful?!" _His anger was climbing with each word he shouted. High General Patrick Seeple stood at attention across from his livid master.

"I'm sorry, sir, but apparently there was some… Interference… from Jaina Proudmoore." His head slumped as he stared at the floor.

"Nozdormu damn you!" Ev'ra flung his divining orb from the desk. It shattered instantaneously in a puff of green smoke. "Where is the Worgen now?" His voice was now regaining its silky smooth texture.

Seeple sighed, "We're not sure. Seems he made a deal with Proudmoore. If he left Theramore, the officials would not pry into his 'business.' He took the deal."

"Of course he took the deal you idiot!" His composure was having difficulty reasserting itself. "Forget it. Forget this whole ordeal. Time is on our side, Patrick." He gazed out the large window, sighing. "The flow of space and time will allow our paths to cross again, and then I will exact my revenge."

Patrick Seeple nodded modestly, "Of course, sir."

Ev'ra turned back to Seeple, "Very well, Patrick. Let me be." He sat at his desk, "Finite no more."

"Finite no more," Returned the General, bowing before exiting Ev'ra's chambers. The door squeaked shut, locking Ev'ra alone in his seething frustration. Nozdormu would grant a second encounter. He would allow Ev'ra his revenge. His service had earned it.

***

"I do appreciate the pardon, Milady." Robert Cawl stood at the steps of Proudmoore's tower. The rain was pouring, crashing upon the ground with such ferocity that the sound was deafening. "I'll be headin' out now, you won't have to worry about anymore visitors." He flashed his signature smile at the unimpressed Jaina Proudmoore.

"Very well, Cawl. I hope to not have to encounter these circumstances again." She turned in a whip of her robe and disappeared inside her tower. She sure was a looker.

His goodbyes spoken and his business wrapped up, Cawl shouldered what little he owned and turned to the dock. He would journey to the Eastern Kingdoms this dawn, and he would find yet another city to call his home, and he would settle there for months until he was forced to move again. Such was the life of a drifter, one he had handled just find for the years he had done it.

He charged through the wind and rain as he ventured across the wooden planks, greeting the ship as it slowly entered the dock. The ship slowed to a halt as the few passengers waited to leave, baggage in hand. Theramore sure was attracting an odd group nowadays. Two gnomes of different strides began stepping down off the boat, shrugged up against the storm. They began to walk quickly from the boat as a few dockhands handled their horses. These gnomes were big wigs, alright. Not everyone had their mounts handled by the dockhands, much less managed a boat ride alone without waiting for the accumulation of a full load of passengers.

The gnomes were almost off the dock when the older, slightly taller one stopped dead about two yards from Cawl. He squinted and frowned, his small face shriveling in a quizzical analysis of Cawl's features. Finally, the gnome dropped his bags and offered his small hand up to Cawl, walking briskly to meet him, "Robert Cawl?" His voice was surprisingly deep for his small stature.

Cawl peered down at the gnome in scrutiny, "Who's asking?" He was slow to offer his hand after the events of the last few days.

The gnome sighed slightly before gesturing to himself and his partner, "I am Pym Ironcaster, High Council member of the Phantom Hand. This is Jonathan Pinta, my personal guardian." He looked back up to Cawl in expectation.

Something in Cawl's mind rang a bell, "Phantom Hand?" He bit his lip slightly, "Wait a sec, I've heard of you guys. Aren't you supposed to be secret? Isn't it pointless to give away your allegiance?"

Pym frowned, looking at Jonathan for a moment, "I don't understand, you've already been in contact with one of our members, Anu'Rak." He said.

"Anu'Rak?" The troll, it had to be the troll. What did they want with him? "Sounds like a troll name. Can't say it rings a bell."

Ironcaster shook his head, "Alright, I know this game. You're a knife for hire, a rogue, a thug." He smiled grimly, "You can't give away your employers, am I correct?"

He's good. "How about you tell me exactly what you want, little man?" Better to get to the point, the boat was setting sail soon

Pym breathed deep, "Our guild has an interest in what you know. Therefore, I'll offer a little of what we know." He looked Cawl in the eye, a mystical lock preventing the drifter from looking away. "We know you are a Worgen, and we know that you escaped Gilneas while the Greymane is still in full integrity. We know that you attempted to assassinate Sumer Ev'ra as paid to do by the Troll Anu'Rak."

Cawl stopped for a moment, mulling the situation over. "You know an awful lot, gnome." He paused for a moment, "An awful lot more than I'm comfortable with."

Pym offered his hand again, "Why don't you come with us? We can offer you temporary refuge from the law in return for your knowledge regarding Ev'ra and his kingdom."

Cawl snickered, "You'd offer refuge to a criminal for info on a blood elf's groupies?"

Pym shook his head, "Not exactly…"

***

"This is not up for debate, Alquarian!" The representative of the Kirin Tor shouted. "We are not going to get involved in the Kingdom's business, just as they stay out of ours. No matter their atrocities that you claim, we hold no official power, and we will not launch an investigation."

Wibus Alquarian sighed, stopping at the foot of the path. "That is a shame, Charles. I feel that the Kirin Tor is ignoring a major problem." He stared out at the horizon as the sun began to set. "The Kingdom is biding time-"

"Something they seem good at. Biding time. Eventually you'll realize, just as we have, that they simply will do nothing." The mage strode to the shaman standing at the shore of the lake. "Believe me, Wibus, if we thought Ev'ra was up to anything more than bullying some small organizations, we would deal with it."

"I have a hard time trusting your words." Wibus motioned to the shaman, then pointed to the opposite shore. The shaman nodded, then waved an arm around the mage. The air seemed to shiver for a moment with a golden wave. "But, if there is nothing I can do to convince you, I can only say it was a pleasure, and stop by any time the desire strikes you."

The mage smiled, "I will remember. I do enjoy the small vacation to your island, Wibus." He stepped to the shore, "Though I do sometimes wonder whether the walk will be successful." He stopped as they enjoyed a laugh, then continued back to the shore, striding across the water with ease.

When he had left sight, Wibus turned to the shaman, "I need to speak with you, Gaddock. Gather the Guard, tonight we must meet in the Central Hall."

"Of course, sir." The tauren nodded. Wibus stood for a moment, thinking, then disappeared in a flash of smoke. A small bird flew to the top of the tower, disappearing into the window.

***

"You're offering me a spot in your club?" Robert Cawl sat in the cabin of the ship that was now headed to the Eastern Kingdoms.

"It's not that simple," Ironcaster sat across from him. He was leaned forward onto the table, his chin on his clasped hands, his robe wrapped tight around him in the cold. "We can offer you a place with the Phantom Hand, as a sort of protection from Ev'ra's wrath. However, this privilege comes with certain restrictions."

Cawl glanced to the door where Pinta stood, facing the table with his arms crossed. "Do I get my own bodyguard?" He said, grinning.

Pinta raised an eyebrow, "You know I can hear you, right?" His posture stiffened.

Cawl smiled, "Ah, who needs it?" He leaned back in his chair, tossing his feet onto the table. "So about these restrictions…"

Ironcaster thought for a moment. "You have to follow through with our beliefs, Cawl. We have a set of values that we strive to uphold, and being affiliated with us requires you follow these beliefs." He broke his gaze, searching for something in his satchel. He retrieved a leather-bound book, pulling it from his pile of papers and setting it on the desk. The leather was a dark blue, an otherworldly light seemed to reflect of the smooth surface. "This is the tome we live by." He slid it towards Cawl. "Everything we hold dear is in this book."

Cawl grinned, staring at the book. "It would suck if something happened to it, then?"

"We have other copies made since its creation." Ironcaster sighed.

"Of course." He picked up the book, thumbing through the pages. "I'm not too sure about this. I make my living off of killing, you know?" He slipped the book into his pocket.

"I am well aware of your profession." Ironcaster folded his arms, "I'm not saying your talents won't be useful to our cause. One of our creeds is _the death of one can prevent the deaths of many."_

"Convenient." Cawl stretched his arms over his head, yawning. "It will take some time before I know what I'm gonna do. Now what about our next stop? You think Ev'ra is gonna appreciate us bustin' into his place?"

"Oh, I have no doubt that Ev'ra will be less than happy to see you with us, Robert," Ironcaster said, "However, this is not our first meeting with Ev'ra and his council."

Cawl smiled, shaking his head, "You ain't careful, it could be your last."

[END]


End file.
